Something keeps pricking in my chest time and again, and now God only knows whether it is your memory or my own heart.

The poet captures that restless, recurring ache in his chest that surfaces like a gentle thorn. With time, the pain of separation has deepened so much that he can no longer tell whether it is the beloved's lingering memory pricking him or simply his own bruised heart beating. It is an exquisitely vulnerable picture of longing, where love ceases to be just a thought and becomes indistinguishable from your very physical being.